If You Should Fail
by HonourTOne
Summary: After RE:CV, Wesker goes back for the virus he left in Antarctica, the one he failed to acquire the fist time; this time, he goes back with a vengeance.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Resident Evil, and so on, so forth.

Author's Note: I don't know if anyone else tried to do something along these lines, but I'm gonna give it a shot. Please read and review.

The sleek ebony helicopter moved shakily through the violent Antarctic winds, yet by looking upon the faces of the inhabitants of the mode of transport, one would presume it was a relatively peaceful flight. Five men altogether, excluding the pilot; all strong and dressed similarly in black combat uniforms, including a radio and M93R handgun. However, one man stood out against the rest; a man of cropped golden hair, and red eyes covered with thin, black sunglasses. His manner was fitting for one used to the field of combat; and indeed, Albert Wesker had years of training of both the physical and mental kind. He had lead Raccoon City's S.T.A.R.S. into danger of a fatal sort many times, and had danced on Death's borderline in a more impressive fashion when he betrayed Umbrella to meet his own ends.

'Well, let the ends justify the means,' Wesker thought to himself, feeling arrogant pity rather than guilt. If anyone can understand this better, it's the men behind Umbrella; the ones who dispose of anyone and anything to keep themselves on high. Ever since the whole Alexia incident, reports came flooding in of the power of the T-Veronica Virus, and drool began to fall and eyes glaze as viral companies internationally craved sole power over it. But this was Wesker's chance to really play the political game; he went to Antarctica once already, intent on taking that bitch Alexia with him to extract the virus from her body. But she was smarter than he thought she'd be.

'Stronger, too…' The thought crossed his mind as Wesker ran one gloved hand over his cheek, the bruise of Alexia's back hand attack still lingering. He was lucky to escape the base at all; especially with Chris and his brat sister playing with the computers, causing the entire base to blow up. One of his men managed to retrieve the kid, Steve Burnside, but his body died under heavy examination, and didn't produce a suitable virus for examination.

'So, now I'm back in this Hell hole.' Wesker gritted his teeth as he let his head fall back against the metal wall, thinking that this trip would be useless, but it had to be done. Alexia's body was the last place to look, her body the resting place of the most powerful virus yet. But she was destroyed in the blast and by that bastard Chris, but there was always hope that something was left of her. Anything.

Wesker wanted to come here alone, but he couldn't search alone; he needed good, strong men. Looking around, Wesker already knew that some of them had other plans in mind; they knew the game they were playing and the wealth there was for the taking. Yet they thought Wesker was oblivious to their plans. Fools; Wesker already decided to kill each and every one of them before returning home, including the pilot. He would fly to his own domain with whatever he found and offer it to the highest bidder; no strings attached.

Suddenly, the helicopter lurched downward, causing a series of gutter curses, and relieved laughing. It was the first man-made noise to break the silence in hours; since takeoff. And now, once again, words were resurfacing as the helicopter landed with a good thump on the icy terrain. But this wasn't the time for conversation. It wasn't part of the plan. They had to get in and out of there as fast as possible, aware for any surviving virus carriers still stumbling about.

Turning around in his seat, the pilot offered the five men a smirk. "Welcome home, boys." Clasping a lever on his control panel, the helicopter doors slide open, revealing the ruins of a metallic base, beginning to show signs of a blanket of ice and snow. Wesker didn't acknowledge the pilot, or any of them, in fact. This was purely business. His business. Standing up, he checked the chamber of his handgun once more just for good measure. Finally looking up at one of the men closest to the door, a smooth talking Puerto Rican by the name of Maize, Phillip Maize, Wesker nodded for him to get his ass out the door.

'Just for safety measure; don't want any more backstabbers.' One by one, he filed the men out, leaving the pilot with a last few words merely consisting of something along the lines of: "Keep your ass here or I'll hunt you down." Though, it can't be assured that what he really said was that polite…

Jumping out of the helicopter, Wesker felt the cool wind slapping itself violently across his face and body. They needed to find shelter; they needed to get in the damn base. The sooner in, the sooner out. Preparing his handgun for any unexpected visitors, Wesker spoke quickly to the five men before him: blond locked pretty boy Thomas McGuire, Phillip Maize, German/English mercenary Wilhelm Black, brown hair-blue eyed Edward Cage, and finally, an energetic Scotsman that merely went by 'Will.'

"I'm splitting us up into three teams; two men to a team. You each have your maps and radios; we'll keep in touch should we see anything. Maize, Cage, you two take to the floors on the east side of the base and outdoors gate; Black, Will, I'm leaving you to the Spencer Mansion replica and the areas surrounding it. McGuire," Wesker quickly eyed the young kid, purposely choosing him as his partner because he was a big enough pansy to go down quickly. No threat there. "We'll check the airport and transport wings."

All five men nodded and went off to their own tasks. McGuire approached Wesker, fingering his handgun.

"Ready to go, Boss?" The young kid was eager; he wasn't on this mission to betray him, only to get a bit of name for himself. Well, he should have known better than to play with fire. Wesker didn't acknowledge his comment with a response because that would only encourage the kid to talk even more. Walking past him, Wesker headed to the remains of the base, knowing that this mission would only be a failure. No one could survive this mess. He heard McGuire follow, keeping silent verbally as Wesker hoped he would. They walked in silence for a few moments before coming upon a single door marked: Employees Only. Jingling the handle, the former S.T.A.R.S. leader found it to be inoperative; pushing against the door, it barely budged.

"Uh, Boss, the map here says that this isn't the best root to-"

"I hired you to help me find Alexia, McGuire, not to give your damn input." Wesker hissed; he knew this base inside and out; the controls and secret passageways. Smashing his shoulder against the door, it finally creaked open, flinging into the left wall with a loud 'crack.' Holding up his hand gun, Wesker strained to listen for any movement.

"Boss-"

"Quiet!"

A scrapping noise; like nails on a chalkboard…or metallic floor. Slowly stepping into the room, Wesker dragged McGuire in behind him, before closing the door to block out the sound of the wind. Both men pulled out their flashlights instinctively, especially now that the scrapping sound was more striking to the ear, no longer drowned out by wind and snow storms. Before them lay a darkened hall way, no longer in the condition it was meant to be. Lights and fire extinguishers were scattered all over the ground; broken glass and bullet holes.

Wesker could practically smell the fear of McGuire; the poor kid obviously didn't expect to actually find anything alive. He didn't really know the horror behind Umbrella; not yet, anyway. Wesker's viral senses were sharpened and he could practically smell what approached. A Hunter. Yet it was wounded, but it knew they were there, and it was coming.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: it's never really going to change, unless, of course, I somehow gain complete control over capcom; and I think the chances of that are pretty slim to none.

AN: Shadow Megaman: I explained in the story about Steve.

Shakahnna: You appear to be reading my mind.

Thank you for reviewing.

The feel of the air became thick with anxiety, and unbearably loud with silence pounding on their ears. The one sound to give release was the inhuman dragging; and even then it was an icy release, complimented only by dread. Crouching down, Wesker strained his ears, dropping his free hand to the grate below him to feel the minor rumble and vibrations. But, instead, his hand fell into a small pool of a sticky, cold substance. Licking his lips, Wesker looked up at McGuire coolly.

"Turn off your flashlight," he hissed, catching the look of horror that passed over the kid's face, before he curtly shut his off.

Not wishing to give the beast any more clues, the lights had to go off, especially in the reflective hallway. When McGuire's flashlight didn't switch off, Wesker quickly snatched it from his hands, fighting the urge to crush it in his bare hands out of anger. He didn't have time to babysit the fledgling, especially if he couldn't take orders. Setting the flashlight down beside his own, Wesker once more returned his attention to the small pool beneath him. Drawing his fingers to his nose, he sniffed quietly. Coagulated blood; human. Yet it was cold, and therefore old. Brushing his fingers over his black pants, he stood up. Apparently, something more than hunters haunted this base.

Clipping the two flashlights onto his belt, Wesker dug his hand into McGuire's shoulder; what existed of his dirty, cut down fingernails pinching the skin beneath. Yanking him forward, Wesker stalked down the corridor with a feline grace, practically dragging the unwilling McGuire with him. It surprised him, at first, that the kid had opened his trap yet, but then, perhaps he was mute with fear. _You went into the wrong field, kid._

Even if he did, it only would have been the end of him. The hunter would be assured of their existence and would increase speed; and McGuire would pay for it with blood, as the former S.T.A.R.S. leader would have threw him to the creature's mercy to distract it. Blood-one of the strongest currencies the world ever knew. Stopping every few moments to listen and approximate where the hunter was, Wesker warily moved forward. It was a long hallway; it was possible they'd reach the door before they'd reached the hunter. But suddenly, it appeared that the beast caught the smell of them, for it picked up speed. Pressing his back against the wall before the corner, Wesker briefly steadied McGuire before holding up his handgun, fingering it tightly.

This was the moment; he could use McGuire, and be rid of him. The kid was a nuisance, anyway. But then, perhaps he would prove useful later as a distraction or extra strength to add to a task. _Strength? I'm no longer human; I can handle anything put before me._ Clasping McGuire's upper arm, Wesker looked at him one last time. Dimly, in the dark, he could see an outline, but not his eyes, surely haunted and terrified.

"It's not personal, McGuire," Wesker hissed in a mocking voice, the young man's body stiffening with each word as his senses came back to him. "Just business. You were dead the moment you walked into Umbrella's world."

And with that, Wesker threw the kid beyond the corner, watching him crash into the wall opposite with the sound of bones cracking and grinding. Coughing, McGuire moaned in the dark, but not for long. The hunter rushed up him and started to slash at him, tearing his face and neck open. There wasn't much time for screaming; not that it mattered. Wesker rounded the corner sharply and disappeared down the corridor through a pair of double doors. Quickly closing the doors, Albert locked them calmly, smirking almost as the creature banged against the doors in a vain attempt to enter. Turning around, he took in the room: a grand hall lined with knights standing eerily in the dark. But a few yards away from him, there was a lone chair, drawing an air of mystery about it. Ignoring it, Wesker walked forward and down the hall, not enjoying the look or feel of it.

But as he drew near the end, he noted a decimated metal gate, torn as if by a giant axe, or chainsaw, right through the center. The bars were bent back, and beyond it, there was a large hole in the wall, just begging to be observed, strange as it was. _Claire, so this is where you almost lost it all…_ Wesker climbed through the bars, remembering this place from the video tapes he salvaged throughout the base. But it wasn't important now. Walking to the lone door in the compartment, Wesker pressed his ear against it, listening for any noise. A muffled moan; _Well, there's the evidence behind the blood_. Grasping the doorknob, he slowly turned it. Not locked, unsurprisingly. Quickly opening the door, Wesker stalked into the hallway, gun ready to shoot at anything remotely nearby. There, in the cell opposite of him, was a pathetic virus carrier, or "zombie", gnawing and banging on the bars.

It wasn't worth the ammo, but for a moment of entertainment, Wesker shot the creature once in the head, sending it to a fatal crash on the floor. It fidgeted for a moment before growing still. Satisfied, Wesker smiled slightly and turned away to explore the place further. But a room away, there was the final resting place of Alexia Ashford; the last place she was seen. And there, his hopes would be secured or destroyed.


End file.
